Breakdown
by AnotherHopelessFangirl
Summary: Stork has a breakdown in the woods, and Aerrow is there for comfort.


There were many people on Atmos who had everything. The Colonel, the Rex Guardians...they were provided with enough riches to supply themselves and generations to come. They took things for granted and were perfectly happy in their own little lie that they would always have everything they could possibly ask for. Then there were the people who had little to nothing in their lives, at least in a sense. While they had no real _possessions, _what they lacked in objects they gained in knowledge and knowing to enjoy the things they recieved. They took nothing for granted, for who knew when said things would come again, or worse yet, disappear? They knew what was important, their essentials. Stork was one of those people. While he never exactly showed it, like a lot of his deeper emotions, he looked at the things he earned and recieved like gifts from some unknown god, wondering what in Atmos he did to deserve them. Such was the life he was undeservedly and unfortunately thrown into. He found himself barely a life worth letting live in Atmos.

Currently, however, he wasn't sure how much longer he was to live. He was convinced at this point that he was dying, and in one of the most gruesome ways possible. Nobody could feel like this and _not _be dying. His heart was racing, almost seeming to palpatate and flip in his chest. Oxygen seemed to be just beyond his reach. His insane heart rate and breathing were the only things he was aware of now; he could see nothing. His mind was locked, tuned out to everything else around him except those sounds. Those

Two.

Frantic.

Desperate.

Sounds.

Stork couldn't remember how or when it started. One moment he's going about his usual business, the next-a noise, a hallucination, a spoken word, damn if he can remember the trigger-he's on the ground, eyes ever-twitching as they stare, locked in some point in space, body seizing in never-ending fits of trembling. His hands remained clutching his skull as if it's fit to explode if he can't hold it together, fingernails embedding crescent moon marks in his scalp. His ears flattened down the middle, a sure sign to add to the many others of his distress. Peculiarly, at least peculiar to those that wouldn't understand, there was nothing in the woody clearing Stork laid in that could harm him... Nothing but the trees and the light snow he was sprawled out in and the night itself. Nothing but the dark, nearly inescapable confines of Stork's mind. And, hell, his mind was a disturbed, fucked up little thing, a nightmare-inducing, hellish place. It was already a nightmare in itself. It was the kind of place one would never wish on anyone else to experience unless they were truly born without a heart or soul. It was the place Stork was trapped, a place that no repellents or weapons could help him in. It was a place for him and him alone, and he could never escape it.

Stork squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth tightly together to suppress a scream, pulling his knees close to his chest to curl his body up into a ball. Funny how you feel the most alive when you're dying, he thought, which is what is most certainly happening. He wasn't sure how he was dying, or why, just that he was. He was dying slowly, painfully. There was no escape now; he was too far gone to be saved. He wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. If it has to be this way, why doesn't it just end already? The suffering's too much, splits and tears every part of his mental being into tiny little threads. And through it all came the whispered words.

"Never safe...never safe...please...please..." A scream managed to squeeze its way from his lungs, echoing out into the darkness, hoarse and like that of a trapped animal. Not that anyone would hear it. The same darkness made his head spin as his gaze refused to fall on anything that gave him light and made him feel less alone, and it constricted around him, closed around him and threatened to suffocate him by snatching the breath from his lungs and swallow him...

"Stork!" As quick as the comatose started, it stopped, and Stork lurched with a gasp as he came back into reality. A cold gust filled his lungs and the equally cold snow helped to register where he was. Wide, foggy eyes traveled down to his shoulder, then to his hand as two slightly callused hands gripped onto him gently but firmly. Stork, still dazed, craned his neck to turn his head upwards slowly. It took a moment to recognize the pair of eyes, but once he did, Stork visibly relaxed.

"Aerrow..." The name came out hoarse from screaming, slightly breathless as he was still slightly hyperventilating. Aerrow's face was nothing but concern as he gave his pilot's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"You okay there, buddy? We were pretty worried about where you were." Of course Stork was not okay, but it was one of the things Aerrow always, always asked. Stork sat up with his knees once again pulled to his chest. He held his arms with his hands and rubbed them up and down along the freezing skin. The wind slightly touseled his long locks of black hair, and he stared down at the snow. Aerrow's frown deepened. His hand had never left the Merb's shoulder.

"Stork..." The Merb seemed to be going into another one of his trance-like, catatonic states, or hadn't quite left the first. Stork looked up at Aerrow again with an expression as if he couldn't quite remember his commander.

"Y...es..." Aerrow remained disbelieving; Stork looked anything but fine. His eyes held that expression he had seen before and always hoped he'd never have to see again. _Help me. Please, help me. I'm hurting and terrified._

Aerrow wasn't afraid or hesitant to sit beside Stork, even if it was right there in the snow. He did so, and Stork half melted, half collapsed into his lap. Stork laid there for a moment, seeming to recall horrid memories and feelings brought on by his episode that Aerrow could only imagine, before he finally made a mix of a shudder and a sigh and pulled himself closer to Aerrow's chest to cling to as much of him as possible. Aerrow's hand never left the spot between Stork's back and shoulder blades, and he continued to murmur reassurances.

"It's okay," he said softly. "I'm right here." It took some time before Aerrow was sure Stork wouldn't freak out, and he wrapped his arms around the Merb in a comforting embrace. It took even longer before he decided it was safe to suggest getting out of the snow to prevent freezing joints, or as Stork believed, thermal paralysis.

"Maybe we should go back to the ship." Aerrow knew this was where Stork was most comfortable and in his element. Stork paused for a moment, realized he was shivering, then nodded. Aerrow stood slowly and offered his hand to pull Stork gently to his feet. Stork took it, and the two were soon eye to eye.

"So, what happened?" This, too, Aerrow always, always asked. Stork put on the face he had put on when Finn asked him how he had liberated Terra Bogaton, or when he was asked of anything dwelling into deep emotions. Aerrow put his hands up slightly in surrender.

"Alright, I get it. You don't want to talk about it." They started walking in the direction of the ship. "I just wish you'd tell us sometimes." Stork slowly stopped, looking at his commanding officer with one of his ominous _looks _through his curtain of hair. His mouth twisted into something like a cruel, bitter sneer that even now made Aerrow feel uneasy.

"Don't ask questions you'd regret knowing the answers to, Sky Knight."


End file.
